


What is a Legacy?

by TerraYoung



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Afterlife, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6411241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerraYoung/pseuds/TerraYoung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her death, Eliza gets to see one of the many things that has come about because of her life's work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is a Legacy?

**Author's Note:**

> My first Hamilton fic. This is what happened when I listened to a recording of "Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?" that has Phillipa's gasp over and over again. Hope you enjoy it!

It is the end.

 You are getting weaker by the second, and darkness is beginning to creep into the edges of your vision. After a long life of happiness and pain, joy and sorrow, miracles and tragedies, you are ready to pass on. It would be wrong to say you have no regrets about how you’ve lived your life, but if anyone were to ask, you would say that you’re satisfied with how it has turned out. And now, you are happy to finally be rejoined with the loved ones you have lost, especially Alexander.

…Alexander. It has been so long since you’ve last seen him. You have portraits and busts to remind you of his looks, his many written words to supplant how he spoke, but there is nothing to replace the sound of his voice, his laughter, how he’d kiss you at every opportunity, or how he’d hold you when you were upset. Is he be happy with all that you have done to preserve his legacy? Are _you_?

Have you done enough to ensure that people will be telling yours and his story long after your grandchildren’s grandchildren have died? Have you –

Your last thought as everything slips away is of Alexander.

 

XxXx

                   

You open your eyes and everything is white. Heaven appears to simply be an endless stretch of blank nothingness.

Someone taps you on the shoulder and you whirl around to face them. It’s Alexander. He looks the same as the day he died – his dark hair gone grey and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Alexander smiles, but before he can let loose his usual flurry of words you fling yourself forward and into his arms.

It’s impossible to tell how long the embrace lasts. After what seems to be too much yet still not enough time later, Alexander presses a kiss to the top of your head and pulls back. When you open your mouth to speak, he places a finger against your lips.

“I swear I will explain everything, Eliza,” he says. “But first there is something I must show you.”

Alexander grabs your hand and pulls you forward. The world around you transforms from endless white into a darkened corridor. You can see hints of light coming from one end, along with the strains of a song. There’s one clear bit – a woman saying “Oh. Can I show you what I’m proudest of?” – before Alexander turns you around to face him.

“We’re in a theatre in New York, over a hundred and fifty years into the future,” Alexander explains. “They’re performing what’s known as a musical – a play that uses music to tell its story.”

 Another snippet – a group of people singing, “The orphanage.”

“What is it called?” You ask.

Alexander beams. “Hamilton.”

“Do you mean –?” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Were you successful? Is the story they’re telling about –

“Let me show you.”

Then, Alexander pulls you forward once more, onto the stage. He lets go so you can explore at your leisure.

There are many people onstage, most of them in cream colored outfits. You can tell that some of them are representing your dear friends and family. There’s a woman with darker skin than Angelica’s who has the same passion and fire radiating from her, and a man who looks nothing like Alexander but holds himself with the familiar bearing of one who will stop at nothing to accomplish what he sets his mind to and has the right mind to achieve such a goal.

Moving in front of them all, into the bright glare of the lights, is a young woman. This must be the one who has decided to fill your shoes as the words she’s singing are ones you have thought a thousand times before:

“And when my time is up, have I done enough? Will they tell my story?”

 You go to meet her as she continues, “Oh, I can’t wait to see you again. It’s only a matter of time.”

She stops singing once she reaches the end of the stage, though behind her the other voices are singing, “Will they tell your story? Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?”

This repeats once more, but it fades into the background while you walk forward, trying to see beyond the glare.

Then the singing dies out and the music swells as you meet up with the woman portraying yourself. You step next to her, follow her gaze outwards, and gasp at what you see.

The theatre is packed. Every seat is filled and there are several people standing. Many of them are crying or on the verge of tears, and all of them are leaning forward, enraptured by what is playing out on the stage. They are all here for the story, for what you assume is about the life of Alexander and what he accomplished.

And, based off of the song you have just heard, they would not be here without you. It may be Alexander’s story, but it couldn’t have been told if it weren’t for your efforts. You _have_ done enough. People are still telling your story.

You feel, rather than hear, Alexander come up behind you. He wraps his arms around you and whispers a simple, “Thank you.”

The two of you stand there looking out for several more moments. Then the room goes dark and the cheering begins.

“Are you ready to see what comes next?” Alexander asks above the noise.

You give yourself a second to burn the image of the excited crowd into your memory before taking his hand. “I am.”


End file.
